


Forbidden

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-09
Updated: 2007-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: It's not a picture-perfect romance. It's not an elegant wedding. It's not a fluffy love story. // It's forbidden. (And for that, it's all the more exciting.)





	1. Replacements

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**AN -** to those of you who have already seen this story posted, I'm sorry! I don't quite know what happened, but I accidentally deleted it. Sorry to those who reviewes. Anyway, enjoy, and please leave something on your way out

**Replacements**

_Angelina Johnson, George Weasley_

They both know it’s wrong. 

But they tell themselves it doesn’t matter ( _tell each other ‘don’t worry, it’s nothing’_ ) because of everything that had happened, everything that had passed, all that had been lost. 

They both know they shouldn’t be doing this. 

But they convince themselves it’s ok ( _convince each other it’s ‘fine, just fine, darling’_ ) by telling themselves that it’s just for a bit, just for now. 

She hates the fact that she knew how to tell them apart. She wishes that she had never looked long enough ( _looked close enough_ ) to notice the differences in the ridge of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the sweep of his hair. She wishes that she thought they were one and the same because then, it would still be wrong, but maybe she wouldn’t notice. 

He wishes that when he looked at her he didn’t picture _him_ standing beside her. He wishes that when he said her name he didn’t hear _his_ voice saying “Ange”. He longs to see her for _her_ ( _‘it’s just me, George, just me’_ ) and not for what she was when he was here. 

No one understands what he’s going through: the loss of someone who is a part of you, not in the way that a child or a parent is, but in the way that only they ( _twins, together in everything_ ) know how. So much a part of you that they make you, they _are_ you. ( _No one understands._ )

Everyone thinks they understand what she’s going through: the loss of a loved one, someone dear, someone special. But they don’t know just how much that someone means to you. They don’t know how much it hurts to see George, the survivor. ( _Everyone thinks they understand_.)

The time first they see each other ( _really_ see _each other_ ) is at the funeral. He thinks later that it’s odd how they were brought together through death, the death of one so loved, so desperately _needed_.Of all the people standing there, it is only she who understands what he’s feeling ( _what is he feeling?_ ). Everyone is devastated by the loss and they all say they’re so _so_ sorry, but he knows that they are all thinking the same thing: “At least it wasn’t both of them. Thank god George is still here”. It’s only the two of them that feel that without him, they’re nothing. 

She looks at him through blurry teary eyes and thinks she must be imagining that somehow ( _somehow_ ) he has come back. And then when the tears roll down her cheeks and she can see him clearly she realises that of course it’s not him and she hates her stupidly naïve and girlish fantasies. Suddenly ( _bizarrely_ ) she is struck by how similar he looks. Obviously she has always known they look the same, but because she knows them both so well, she has never _noticed_ that they look the same. 

Later they sit next to each other in a pub. They talk about this and that, and about the old days. _He_ is there, resting between them, in both of their minds ( _though neither of them say his name_ ).Hands brush, heads dart up, eyes lock. They look away quickly ( _though both of them have thought the same thing_ ). 

She needs someone to fill his shoes, take his place by her side. She needs someone to listen to her never-ending chatter, needs someone to hold her close, needs someone to whisper in her ear. 

He needs to fill _his_ shoes, take _his_ place. He needs to be two people now ( _because he can’t be just George_ ), needs to reassure everyone that things are ok, needs to look after _her_. 

They never talk about him, though both of them know that he’s there in everything they do, everything they say, every movement, every touch. Where there are silences, it’s _him_ filling them up; where there are spaces, it’s _him_ inside of them; where there is feeling, it’s _him_.It hurts them so much to be alone, but it hurts them more to be together. 

So then why do they keep doing it?

_Because they need a replacement._


	2. Obstructions

**Obstructions**

_Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini_

_~_

She’s seen the way he looks at her. And she knows she cannot help the way she looks at him.

The first time she notices they are in the library. Draco sits between Blaise and herself, all of them pouring over essays. Her head lowered, she looks up at him cautiously. ( _Why did it feel so conspiratorial?_ ) Her dark hair flops into her eyes as he catches her gaze. 

There is something in that look, his dark eyes swimming with emotion. She’s never seen that before ( _he’d always been so closed_ ). 

And then she notices it again at the Yule Ball. Her hands are in Draco’s hair, his hands on her hips as they move gently around the hall. Her head on his shoulder, his mouth warm on her neck, she opens her eyes and there are his own dark slanting eyes gazing at her. They carry on dancing ( _her mind raced_ ).

And then it’s more than a look. At breakfast, they both reach for something and their hands touch. Draco sits opposite them but doesn’t notice the trail of heat they leave on each other’s skin. 

Late at night they sit in the common room, Draco asleep on the chair between them and they talk. Her hair falls into her face again and his hand, dark and warm and strong, darts forward. He pushes her hair from her eyes ( _and he_ looked _at her_ ).She sits on the train, Draco’s head in her lap ( _why, why didn’t she just say no?_ ) and for the whole journey she looks into his eyes, and he into hers, and she longs for something ( _it was something like freedom, but she couldn’t be sure_ ).

She finds herself gazing at the Gryffindor table and she wishes to be like _them_. Yes, they are the Golden Trio, but she and Blaise and Draco are the Dark Trio. Why is it there Ron-and-Hermione, with Harry at the front ( _not between them_ ), but she and Blaise can’t even begin? 

Maybe it’s to do with loyalty. ( _Maybe it’s something else_ ). 

There are looks, and gazes, and touches.

But blocking every look, behind every gaze, between every touch, Draco is there. 

And as the years drift by, the looks are less lingering, the gazes less breath-taking and the touches less fiery. 

Why did they make it so?

_Because of the obstruction between them_. 


End file.
